


Goodbye Cooper

by Shatterpath



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-10-10
Updated: 2002-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/pseuds/Shatterpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The passing of an old friend and the thoughts of his beloved human that he leaves behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodbye Cooper

**Author's Note:**

> Author's notes: Today is the passing of an era for me. Some eight years ago, I discovered Stargate for the first time and had an idea. This was when Sam Carter's Jolinar saga was still fresh and I had a very clear memory of Janet mentioning how the death of the To'kra had changed Sam's chemical makeup.
> 
> Now, I have always had a fascination with police dogs. I think it started with my childhood neighbor, a big, scary cop with a huge German Shepherd (named Rommel) and two kids of similar age as me and my brother. As I grew older, I always marveled at the inherent abilities of dogs and how they have been used in the service of humanity for so impossibly long.
> 
> So, I got to thinking about how useful a police dog would be at Stargate Command. Think about it, with a dog's sensory perceptions, they could pick out aliens and other hazards and be such an amazing tool. So, I began visualizing a huge, handsome Shepherd like I always saw in pictures, so elegant and alert. I did hours and hours of research into military police dogs, called military working dogs, or MWDs. The dog became a male, because I pretty well write exclusively about women and wanted some contrast. The name is a funnier story and one I don't think I've ever told. As a kid, I was raised on Sesame Street. One of my favorite characters was the old shopkeeper, Mister Hooper. Only, I misremembered his name and started calling my police dog, Cooper. Seriously, that's the true story.
> 
> Art was taken, whole cloth, from my Star Trek Voyager days, back before the show completely went to crap. Cooper needed a handler and I really liked Art (originally created as Janeway's foil, so no real leap to Janet, eh?) and decided that she had the perfect personality to be a police dog handler. And since she was already military (Star Fleet) making her Army was easy. And Art was even conveniently a security officer on Voyager.
> 
> This is a tribute to a single, curious idea about a talented dog that turned into a saga of multiple hundreds of thousands of words. A single idea who grew into a fictional dog that became so real that I feel as though I have had to say goodbye to an old friend. Goodbye Cooper, I'll never forget you.

++ Cooper ++

 

(10-10-02)

 

It is a good night, peaceful, quiet, with a lingering heat of the fireplace is pleasant to my tired body. Panting, I walk my domain as though for the first time.

 

Helping the Alpha change this outside environment has been a joy. Good, dark earth in my pads and claws, green things giving off wonderful smells. Like a shadow, my mate joins me in my vigil, and we wait for the sky to grow dark. It is she that protects and obeys the Alpha now, not I. Our daughter and the small dog lay nearby, caught up in the magic of this night.

 

Do the humans know how much I remember? The pale healer holding me as a squirming cub, when my sole purpose in life was to taste her skin and play until sleep took me. Voices and faces teaching me how I must behave when they gave me certain cues and the lovely praise that they gave me when I obeyed. Lazy nights of playing, long days of training, always alert, always aware.

 

Then came the Alpha. I knew in that first meeting of eyes that I would do anything for her, desperate to be worthy of her praise. When she snapped the leash to my collar and touched me, spoke to me, I was home at last. Learning to smell certain things, how to communicate to the Alpha when I did. How I loved those games! The prickle of danger against my wolf instincts kept us both safe. Then I was transported in my box to a place that was very different from my life before. A place that was foreign, and smelled of a fear that would not quite go away.

 

I remember prowling in the smoke and heat, feeling the terror of the pack of humans that we led. But my Alpha was not afraid, only wary and alert. In her I found example and let go of my own fears. Then the thump, the ground erupting, and the stink of machine death.

 

Saving the Alpha was my only goal. How I cried for mercy as she was taken from me, her scent so faint, so close to death. How relived I was when the humans allowed me to see her, smell her. Broken and hurting, she survived, but was not the same.

 

Then came the Alpha mother and the pale Beta. Suddenly, for the very first time, the Alpha had a pack that was hers and hers alone. My joy was boundless.

 

But age has taken its toll on me, and there came the time when I could no longer keep up with the pace of living in the concrete rabbit warren. Then I was carefully retrained so that my instincts to protect were not so deadly. Now I must be like those pet dogs, and forget the glorious things that I have done.

 

The day that the Alpha packed me into my box and sent me away was the worst of my life, both of our hearts breaking. I cried and cried until the elder cub and the Alpha mother returned me to the home I knew and treated me as they always had.

 

By the time the Alpha returned with the female that would one day be my mate, I was used to my new life, almost grateful for it. And the Alpha was as kind and loving to me as she always was.

 

Then came the two young human pups, smelling of the Alphas. They are healthy and pull at my tail and ears as pups will do. I take as much joy in them as the pups I sired on my mate. Now there is a new pup, his eyes barely open, to make the pack even larger and stronger. And the Beta was allowed to breed, and her girl pup smells of the Alpha too.

 

In the cavernous house, I listen for the adults before proceeding to the cubs. Snuffling at them, tickling their pudgy ribs, they pet my head and murmur their human baby speak at me. The girl cub in particular understands something in me and I can smell the fox in her, as I can feel the veiled threat of the great yellow cat in the red cub that is bonded to her so closely. The boy touches my face, his dark eyes knowing so much for a human. They kiss me, their breath puppy-sweet. Even the red cub pets me, her face serious, and I know that she knows that it is time.

 

At the doorway to their den, I look back once more to the glittering eyes of the cubs and wag my tail before leaving them. Then I whine and scratch at the door to the Alpha’s room, desperate to see my adult packmates. Exasperated, but tolerantly amused, the Alpha lets me in, roughly petting me and thumping my ribs. Happily, I lick and squirm like a puppy, licking the beloved face. The Alpha mother is peaceful, while the new boy cub suckles busily at her teat. She allows me a small kiss on her soft face, and I sniff the sweet new baby. He will be a strong pup and make his parents proud.

 

The Beta senses that something is amiss as I sniff the girl baby, happy for her, before laying my head on the Beta’s chest where she lays on the big bed. She murmurs to me as the children did, gently stroking my back and head. The Alpha joins us, touching me with such love. I have no regrets in my life, as the love and adoration of these humans has always surrounded me. There have been some of their kind that did not do them proud, but those few are unimportant.

 

Tonight, they forget that I am there and the adult humans settle together, their smells intertwined, the babies sleeping quietly in their nests. This is how it should be. Touching noses with my quiet mate, we leave, carefully closing the door behind us.

 

The elder cub is home from wherever her wanderings have taken her. She is no longer a cub, this one, but a young adult ready to make her own pack. She is not of the adults here, but taken in by them as family nonetheless. More asleep than awake, she murmurs my name as I lay my head on her chest and sigh heavily. I have enjoyed being her protector and companion as she made these last few steps to adulthood. Her arm is a welcome weight on my neck as sleep once more makes her limp and heavy.

 

For a long time I maintain my vigil, as the house grows quiet around me. With all my senses I strain, but there is only peace here. Gently, I free myself, kiss the elder cub once more, and slip out. The slowness is coming over me; I have felt it for some time. I will maintain my guard at the elder cub’s door, as I have done since the Alpha was forced to send me away. My mate hovers, and I raise my head to touch noses with her one last time. She is sad that I will not meet the pups she carries, but understands.

 

My life has been more than any dog could ever hope for, but now it is time to rest. It is time to cross the rainbow bridge where my kin await me on the other side, time to run and play and feel only glorious spring days and my young, healthy body.

 

It is time to sleep.

 

Forever.

 

++ Art ++

 

I feel it the instant I am jerked from sleep. Half sitting up, I strain my ears, knowing that something is wrong. It's still night and the house quiet and peaceful around me, but I can't shake the creepy feeling.

 

The hallway is dark. Lucky is not there, and the feeling of wrongness deepens. There she is, by Cassie's door, standing over Cooper.

 

Sometimes, you just know, even before there is proof. In the scant moments where I stand frozen in the hallway, my life with this most beloved of dogs flashes across my mind.

 

The moment I met the eyes of the big dog, barely out of puppyhood, we knew the bond was true. The trainers told me that he hadn't gotten on with a half dozen candidates and were shocked at how we clicked. We excelled at everything, and his boundless desire to please made me push myself higher and farther than I would have ever managed on my own. We were a force of nature, sniffing out danger, putting the bad guys in their place. When the shit hit the fan in Bosnia, we were naturals to send along with the ground troops. We kept so many of them safe and the troops loved my gregarious partner.

 

Then came the grenade, shattering our idyll.

 

My skin crawls with the memories. My brave partner, jumping up to yank me away from the worst of the injuries, dragging my bleeding body to the medics, saving my very life. The agony of having to replace him.

 

There are tears, I know that, and my breath is strangled in my throat. I knew this day would come, he's gotten old and his muzzle is grey, his eyes growing dull, his coat rough. Woodenly, I stumble down the hall and collapse beside the silent Lucky. In her eyes, the truth is confirmed and we both feel the pain keenly.

 

Beneath my trembling hand is the familiar shape of his ribs, his shoulder, his heavy neck, his proud head. I have trouble comprehending the stillness in him. Wracked by memories, shattered by shock, I gather up his great weight and hold him close. My face in his thick ruff, I choke on the pain and rock back and forth, heaving great sobs.

 

My heart is broken.

 

++ Janet ++

 

I will never forget the cry of agony that woke me in the early morning before everything dissolved into the worst kind of chaos. The moment I rush into the hallway, stopping dead in my tracks for a moment, I know what happened. The twins and Emily stand quiet and sad at the doorway to their bedroom. Somehow, they know, they had known even before Art.

 

Touching the children's heads, I whisper my love to them and they hug me quickly before I go to my devastated beloved. Rocking back and forth, openly weeping with grief, she clings to Cooper's big body as though her life depends on it.

 

"Oh Art," is all I can breathe, immeasurably relieved when Sam kneels with me and we hold Art in the cradle of our arms.

 

Poor Cassie is woken by the noise, and her pain is nearly as sharp as Art's.

 

In time, Art stills. Her face a mask of pain, she gathers Cooper's great weight up tenderly, uncaring about the mess that the dog's passing has made, and heads down the hallway. All this time, the children have stood silent guard, watching with teary eyes. Art kneels beside them and each of them strokes Cooper's head in goodbye. Darya and Karen hover nearby, also touching him respectfully as Art moves past them. Sam and Lucky follow silently and I am torn between my lovers and my children. Grudgingly, the later wins out and I hug my twins and Emily hard to my body.

 

"He was the best dog," Cubby says softly. "We will miss him."

 

The rest of the morning is a blur of tending to my big family as best I'm able. After several hours pass, I'm fretting over Art's refusal to leave the garage and Cooper's body, but Sam's hand on my arm stills me.

 

"I'll get her," she murmurs softly and I somehow understand that Sam needs to do this, not I.

 

++ Sam ++

 

How I know is a mystery, but I just know. My first task is to set a bowl of water down for Lucky, who drinks gratefully and allows me to stroke her shoulders and spine. After she's slaked her thirst, I prop open the narrow door to the backyard so that she can relieve herself and then return. For my care, I earn one of her rare little kisses, just a fleeting warmth and wet on my knuckles.

 

Now, I must do my best to comfort Art. Where to start? "I always hated needing to be cared for," slips from my mouth, startling me. "Every time I'd come stumbling out of that damn Gate all beat to hell, every time someone died, every time something went wrong."

 

Art flinches when I wrap my arms around her, tucking my head into the crook her neck and shoulder. For long minutes I just hold her, feel some of her cold leech away in the onslaught of my warmth. Cooper is laid out respectfully on the thick blanket we use for picnics and I reach out so stroke his cold fur one last time.

 

"He'll like that, being surrounded by the smells and memories of the people he loves. Karen will take care of him now. That lovely grove where your hammock is should be a nice place for him, hmm?"

 

Something in Art finally breaks and she at last turns away from Cooper to burrow into my larger body and cling with suffocating strength. It's not often that I am this woman's pillar of strength, but I am more than happy to be just that for her now. Her arms are icy around me, but my jacket and body heat warm her flesh even as my support warms her wounded heart. "Do," Art's voice cracks painfully and she swallows hard before trying again. "Do you think that General Hammond will let me bury him on the mountain?"

 

The moment she asks the question, it makes sense. This dog made such an impact to the SGC and it seems only right to have him rest forever there. "Sure he will. And if for some reason he thinks he needs to say no, me and Jack will sit on him."

 

The choked, sobbing laugh is exactly the reaction I wanted and at last Art allows herself to be drawn away.

 

++ Art ++

 

(10-11-02)

 

The SGDs labored last night and this morning to hack out a big, deep hole in the cold, wet earth. It's a nice spot, near an old gnarled tree and protected by tumbled boulders, just out of sight of the main tunnel entrance into the mountain. My family is here and many of the friends that Cooper and I shared. The other MWDs are quiet, maybe even a bit subdued, as thought they understand that one of the best of their own has passed. There have been few words as the rain patters down in a heavy drizzle that seems appropriate to my heavy heart.

 

Karen approaches with the awkward bundle and kneels to set Cooper beside the grave. This is it. This is my final goodbye. Beneath the bulk of the blanket, I feel the shape of his flesh and bones a last time, unwilling to venture beneath and feel how cold he must be now. "You are the best, buddy," I whisper. "And I'll never forget you. Rest now and know that we'll all always love you."

 

The men that I recruited for the Stargate Dogs are his honor guards now, lowering Cooper's big body to the wet earth and grimly setting themselves to the task of refilling the hole. Tears and rain half blind me as my family cuddles me and we wait for the finality of the last shovelful.

 

Each of us places a stone atop the raw grave, murmuring farewells to this special animal. There is no other marker of where he lies. The big stone that I can barely move is icy against my hands, but I force it to move to its spot as his headstone.

 

"Goodbye," I whisper one more time and force myself to take up Lucky's lead and walk away.

 

They give me the rest of the day to mourn quietly, curled up in the home office mostly alone, with Lucky standing guard over me. Some might find it impossible to believe how Cooper's death has affected me. After all, to so many, he would be only a dog. But he will always be so much more. So I fondle his collar, the plain nylon one he wore off duty, because he was buried in the handsome leather piece that held his badge. That seemed only right. After all, he was a soldier. Lucky eventually has enough of my moping, grabbing the collar in her teeth to toss it aside and putting her paws on my chest to lick my face and whine like a puppy.

 

It's by far the most ebullient and affectionate this ladylike dog has ever been and my laughter, hoarse as it might be, is completely authentic. Ignoring her sharp nails and not insignificant weight, I let her climb onto the couch and affectionately molest me, her slobbering kisses chasing off my morose mood. Smugly satisfied, she flops onto my prone body with an enormously heavy sigh, her pointed head snugged up between my ear and the back of the couch.

 

I'm immeasurably touched by the sensitivity of this beloved animal. She has never been like this, but the very physicality of her affection has lightened my spirits more than she knows.

 

++ Janet ++

 

I can't stand it anymore, I'm worried stupid, and gingerly creak open the door to the home office where Art has been laired up all day.

 

The shock of her smile makes me weak in the knees.

 

"Hey there, _agahpee mou_ ," she purrs and both the tone and the familiar endearment bring tears to my eyes. Lucky's tail wags lazily, though she doesn't move, and I can't help but be amused at the indolent, proprietary way that she is sprawled over Art's body. Particularly with her big, pregnant belly sticking out like that, Art's dark hand tenderly stroking the bulge. Remembering that same hand doing the same for our human pups, my smile deepens and I hazard joining them.

 

"Hi," is the first inane thing that comes to mind, more just to hear my own voice than actually communicate anything. Art's smile is complete understanding and I am struck once more at how well she understands me. How helpless I feel, unable to comfort her through a pain I still don't think I truly understand. Some of that must show on my face as I settle to the floor beside the couch, watching the blue, blue eyes and Lucky's cinnamon gaze beyond.

 

"My Love," Art whispers, stroking my face, her thump tracing my lower lip. "You were there for me, for our children. That's all I would ever want or need from you."

 

Sobbing, I bury my face in her neck, her scent mixing with the dog's, so familiar and so welcome, and let the stress of the less than twenty-four hours wash over me. "You always know what I'm thinking," I breathe, soaking up her loving chuckle.

 

"It's called love and it goes both ways, Janet. Thank you for being patient while I mourned. Lucky here made sure that I didn't wallow for too long. Can you believe that she slobbered all over me?"

 

"Really? But she never does that," I marvel, joining Art's left hand in stroking Lucky's fur and soaking up the feel of my _ahndras'_ right touching my head and upper back. "Good girl."

 

The slowly wagging tail picks up momentum, making us both chuckle.

 

++ Sam ++

 

"Man, the look on your face, doc," Jack howls with laughter, sharing his favorite story of our fallen canine fellow. I'm happily curled up sideways on the couch in the big living room, my upper body pinning Art to the couch and her arm coiled possessively around my torso. I know that Janet's tucked up on Art's other side and the children range around the room at will.

 

"Well, I hardly expected him to push his whole head down my shirt, now did I?" Janet comments dryly, her tone completely amused. "Not to mention slobbering down my cleavage." Cooper's introducing himself to Janet all those years ago has become the stuff of legend and all present indulge in the humor of the memory.

 

All of SG1 is here, and General Hammond looking incongruous in jeans and a flannel shirt, as well as other members of the SGC dropping in and out all night. Karen and Darya have completely taken over hosting and parental duties and Art has been good enough not to object and just take the gift in the spirit in which it's being given. We're a close-knit bunch and this is the nicest gift that anyone has offered, just allowing our little threesome some time to bond after the pain. Lucky, Jammer and Butchie have stuck close, currently curled up at our feet until the doorbell will ring again. The almost grown pups are taking their job as greeters to heart and it's funny and sweet to watch. Lucky is her usual self, aloof and watchful.

 

"I remember that day in the park," I murmur quietly, for Art's ears only, and her grip tightens just a fraction. "When you were so upset and finally told me that you liked women. I think that's when I started really falling for you, even if I didn't realize at the time."

 

Breath heavy with emotion, her mouth presses to my crown, and Art holds me tight. As always, I bask in the affection and hug her arm to my chest tightly. "Love you, Sam," she whispers hoarsely and I smile at the quietly intimate moment.

 

It was my idea for an old-fashioned wake for Cooper and Jack jumped on it with unbridled enthusiasm. Throughout the long evening and well into night, friends and coworkers have shared their memories, their laughter and even some tears.

 

But the time comes when we must all surrender to the pull of sleep, Art hugging those closest to us fiercely, even General Hammond. She and Jolynne cling the longest, their bond the oldest and so intertwined with the fallen Cooper.

 

Then, with barely enough energy to brush our teeth and strip naked, we three fall into bed in a messy pile. But Art summons the strength to grab first Janet, then myself, to be kissed long and slow and deep. "I love you two so much. Thank you for taking care of me."

 

Neither of us needs to say anything and we all sleep, secure in the knowledge of our togetherness.

 

++ Art ++

 

(10-31-02)

 

"Cubby! Come on, son, we're waiting on you!"

 

All the kids are dressed and rarin' to go Trick or Treating, but Cubby is uncharacteristically dawdling. Tonight will be just me and Darya to watch over house, dogs and babies while doing our best to entertain the kids doing the candy rounds. With Lucky so close to her due date, I have to stay with her, much to the kid's disappointment.

 

Finally, my boy appears in his adorable cowboy outfit and I grin at his hesitation. "There's my boy! You look just like Woody."

 

This year's theme is Toy Story 2, with Fawn as Jesse and Emily as Bullseye. The later hadn't been too happy with being the horse, until we adults pooled our skills and managed to piece together the best-looking costume of the bunch.

 

"But _Bahbas_ ," Cubby hedges as he walks over. "What if Lucky has her puppies while I'm gone?"

 

He's such a serious little man, always has been. Smiling, I straighten his collar and take the hat from his hands to snug it onto the black curls we share. "Then I will call your mama on the phone and you can come home and help. I promised, didn't I?"

 

Immediately, he brightens and smiles winningly. "Yes _Bahbas_ , I can help deliver the puppies."

 

"Absolutely. Now go trick or treat with your posse." With a hand on his back, I propel my elder son to his waiting companions and give Sam and Janet quick kisses. "Be safe and have fun!"

 

A couple of quiet hours of television and baby keeping passes while I muse quietly to myself. Yesterday the SGC immortalized my fallen Cooper and I'm still overwhelmed. A plaque hangs in the gateroom now, the memory of it emblazoned in my mind forever. Brass on wood, it bears the symbol of the SGDs, Cooper's handsome profile in a red shield that we all wear proudly on our shoulders. Below, his name and a few special words etched into the bright metal, a memorial to the first and best dog through the Stargate. It's a fitting tribute to him and will keep the memory of what he and I accomplished from ever completely fading.

 

"Is Lucky acting weird," Darya suddenly says with a faint note of concern. "Or is it just me?"

 

Restlessly, head down, my partner is pacing about and gives me a sharp look before slinking off to the nursery. "I'll check on her," I murmur and pat Dare's leg before following Lucky to where the babies sleep peacefully. "Lucky?"

 

Ornery dog has holed up under Cory's crib and I lay on the floor to peer into the darkness beneath, where I can hear her panting. Trusting that she won't harm me, I reach in blindly, stroking over her soft fur until I reach her distended belly.

 

My wives felt like this, swollen with new life, and the similarities and differences strike me once more. Then one more similarity ripples beneath my hand. I may have missed the beginnings of Lucky's first birthing, but I know the feeling of a contraction when I feel it. "It's time, huh Sweetie?"

 

For a few moments, I retreat to get things ready. Darya calls Janet while I call Jolynne and get the supplies needed for the coming pups. Cory is carefully moved from his crib to lie with his sister and I pile supplies and pillows beside Lucky's chosen den.

 

It's a long few hours as Lucky labors through pup after pup, ruining the new carpet with fluids, and the kids watch in fascination. Each of them get several wriggling, whimpering bundles to clean up while Jolynne, cheerfully annoyed at being pulled away from a Halloween party, snips umbilical cords and does basic checkups of each newcomer.

 

"What is it with this dog and holidays?" Janet complains at one point and we all laugh at the memory of the first litter, delivered on our bed on Christmas Eve. In short order, my Lucky, petite as she is, delivers an astonishing thirteen pups, all of them fat and healthy and talkative. "And a perverse thirteen on Halloween," Janet adds wryly, holding number ten tenderly. "You are something else, good girl."

 

Exhausted, Lucky thumps her tail and submits meekly to her vet's attention.

 

After they've eaten a quick meal of mother's milk and some puppy formula, the newcomers settle willingly into one of the bassinets I confiscated. There is one big male, the stand out among them, that refuses to settle, snuffling about in blind, deaf determination. Everyone is tired by now, but determined to stay up just that little bit longer to enjoy the new arrivals.

 

Something about this fiercely determined little guy makes me scoop him carefully, completely delighted when he growls. And then I see it, the markings drying in his fur, his large size, the shape of his pudgy paws. "You're going to look just like your father, aren't you?" I comment and the kids join me in a pile to admire the pup. "Do you kids know where Cooper got his name?" They all shake their heads, ready for a story before heading to bed on this magical night. "In the old days, men who made barrels were called coopers. I know you think that might not sound important, but barrels were very, very important. There were no cardboard boxes or plastic crates or containers back then. Anything that had to be stored had to have a container made for it, and the most useful one was the barrel. And they're very hard to make, so coopers were very valuable."

 

"I like that story, _Bahbas_ ," Fawn pipes up, snuggled into my ribs, petting the pup's soft belly while he lies still but alert in my hands. "What will you name him?"

 

"How about we name them all after old-fashioned skills, like their father?" Everyone likes that and an idea comes to me. "I like Farrier. Those were the men that made horseshoes and they were just as valued as coopers."

 

It's a hit and we come up with a few more before retreating for the night. Settling the pups in with their mother, I pet them all before returning to my own family. For those pups that do not qualify to walk in the footsteps of their parents, they will be adopted to people that will appreciate their distinguished heritage.

 

Tonight is when the barrier between this world and the world beyond is the thinnest. Stepping into the backyard to draw in the clear coolness of the night, I can almost see Cooper's shape dancing about the shadows thrown by trees and moon alike. Sniffling a bit, I let his presence fill me one more time before letting him go for real.

 

"Goodbye my friend."

 

THE END.

**Author's Note:**

> Dang it... I still can't reread this without sniffling.


End file.
